Indecision
by HeartsandEyesDelight
Summary: Grissom asks Sara to dinner on a whim, and she makes him an offer he can't refuse, try as he might. Once he takes her up on it, however, he realizes he can't stop, but he has too much to lose to keep going... What will he do? GSR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.

A/N: Fair warning, this story is incomplete and I will not be updating regularly... there's some smut, so it's worth a read, but it'll be some time before the story actually develops...

Also, I did very minimal proof-reading, and did not use a beta, so I apologize for typos, they're all my fault. :)

It's set post-Nesting Dolls, but other than that no where specific...

Anyway, enjoy! If you do read, please review, it makes me happy!

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Grissom looked up from his desk—Sara Sidle stood in the doorway to his office, leaning against the door jamb, as she had so many times before. "You look nice." She smiled, no doubt remembering the last time he'd spoken these words—she'd been about to go to court, and certainly looked a different kind of 'nice' today.

"I was at a wedding today. It was early and they did a mid-day reception, so I apparently took the night off for nothing. I just stopped to grab some things out of my locker."

Grissom nodded, wondering at the abundance of information, and about why she'd stopped to see him, and about the exact feel of the dress she was wearing now. Had he ever seen her in a dress before? Skirts, sure, but a dress?

She sighed when he didn't respond, and stood up straight. "Well, I just saw that you were here during the day, and I knew it was your night off too…" She didn't explain how she knew such a thing, and Grissom didn't ask. "I was just… wondering why you were here."

He smiled softly, taking in the slight red in her cheeks—when had he last seen her with her hair up? "Feeding my plants and my pets… double-checking evidence, you know…"

She nodded, looking at her feet. Grissom looked too. Black strappy high heels. He looked back up to her face.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow night." Grissom had the distinct feeling that there had been more she wanted to say, but, also guessing what it was, he understood: she didn't want to be rejected again. He'd called her honey, after their lab had exploded—one of the worst days of his life—and though at the time she hadn't noticed, she later asked him to get dinner. He deliberately pushed the memory from his mind—the brief conversation had distressed him deeply.

She exhaled loudly when he didn't respond immediately, and turned to leave, disappointed again. Something in the… quiet desperation of that sound struck a chord. He'd called her back before he knew what to say.

"Sara?"

She had turned back to him, arms crossed self-consciously across her chest, framed in the light of the hallway which was brighter than that in his lamp-lit office. He suddenly felt very sorry for her… she was dressed up for a night of dancing which hadn't happened, and she looked so… beautiful and so sad… He sighed.

"Look, maybe we can catch dinner later… since your reception plans fell through."

Her chin rose defensively at the invitation and her chocolate eyes surveyed him like a confusing piece of evidence. She ignored how the words had made her heart pound in her chest.

"Alright… did you want me to wait here or… were you gonna pick me up later?"

To Gil Grissom this was a straight-forward question—what time would they have dinner and therefore did it make sense for her to stay? To Sara Sidle, and the women of the world, there was another slight distinction: if they left here together, they would drive separately or he would return her to her car at the end of the night; if he picked her up, it was more date-like… he would be in her apartment.

"I have some things to finish up and, at this late notice, we'll need to wait out the dinner rush. I'll swing by around…seven thirty?"

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind his head, partially obscured by a large spiny plant on one side, and a fetal pig in a jar on the other. It made her smile.

"Yeah, sounds great. You remember where I live?"

He tapped his temple knowingly. "Of course." She nodded and turned to leave, arms still crossed before her. "Bye Sara."

She half-smiled, and her arms fell feebly to her sides. "Bye Grissom."

She made her way out to her car in silence, carefully putting on her seatbelt and backing out before she allowed herself the distraction of considering their conversation. Las Vegas traffic might not be the ideal place for distraction, but she'd gotten so used to the commute that it seemed second nature to get lost in her thoughts now.

It was certainly strange—he had made a concerted effort not to be alone with her for some time. He wouldn't pair them on cases without a third member, he wouldn't catch breakfast after a shift unless most of the group was going. The only time he had shown the slightest interest in proximity had been when Greg was flirting with Sara—he was usually so intimidated by Grissom's presence that he found something else to do, and then so would Grissom. She knew that he was attracted to her—they'd had too many moments and almosts.

They had never really discussed them as almosts… Grissom denied that there was heat between them, even when it was she who looked away first and he who continued the stare. She had asked him to dinner once, and he hadn't known what to do about this. She scoffed as she mentally put quotation marks around her "this". Maybe he'd figured out what to do about the pair of them? He certainly hadn't been able to keep his eyes on her face. She smiled softly, reminding herself not to change before dinner; he liked this dress.

She turned the air conditioning up as she took her exit and moved onto single-lane streets—even though it was past six in the evening, it was very hot out. She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex about a minute later, and decided that she wouldn't get her hopes up. Even if he'd meant it as a date in his office, by the time he got around to picking her up he would have talked himself out of it for one sensible reason or another.

She parked in the garage, not expecting to use her car again that night, and closed and locked it carefully. She let herself in a side entrance to the small building and stopped, as she did every day, to check her mail. Then it was around the corner to the elevator and up to the third floor. She unlocked two deadbolts to let herself in, each with a separate key, and closed the door behind her, relocking both and drawing the chain. She slipped off her shoes then and lined them neatly by the wall, next to the coat closet. Then her purse and keys were set on the breakfast bar top of her little kitchen, neatly, and she took the mail and sat on a bar stool, not allowing herself a moment to think back on their conversation nor forward to their date. She would only overanalyze, and she didn't need that.

She sorted the envelopes methodically—junk mail, bill, junk, junk, junk, bill. She took both piles to her little desk, setting the bills in the drawer to be paid and shredding the junk mail. She tapped her foot for a moment, and decided that dinner was far enough off that she could eat a little, so she moved to her fridge. Though she'd long since stopped ordering take out, it smelled faintly of sweet and sour sauce. She snagged an apple and then, after a moment, tore off a small stem from a large bunch of grapes, and took them to her couch, sitting down. The apple was good, the grapes were better, and though she now felt that she wouldn't be hungry at least until they got to the restaurant, it had taken too little time to eat.

She went to her bedroom, still restless, and glanced through the contents of her closet briefly, wondering if she ought to change. She didn't have many dresses—her standard date outfit was one of a few nicer blouses with the pants to a black suit she owned. She looked down at the black silk, punctuated by white flowers. It was a wrap around dress that made her look like she had more of a figure than she did, with a delicate white lacing at the bodice, in between the diving v-neck of the black silk. It was probably the best dress she had, and he _had_ liked it… she just would have liked him to see her in something he'd never seen when she opened the door on their first date.

She considered this, and moved to her master bathroom, speculating. She had shaved her legs this morning, before the wedding, so she ought to be fine in that regard. She glanced at her hair and thought about curling it, but decided she didn't have enough time. She was no whiz with a curling iron, and it would take her longer than she had to get it right. So she made sure it was still smooth and up—a small bun at the back of her head, with the ends of a few hairs trailing out elegantly. She sighed and resigned herself to simply redo the basics of her morning routine. She applied deodorant, blowing under her arms to make sure it dried before she put them down and got a mark on the dress, and brushed her teeth for a good five minutes, so she was sure they'd be white and her breath would be fresh. She added a spritz of perfume, which, smiling, she thought added a nice touch. She never wore perfume to work, and it had surely worn off by the time she'd been in his office.

She looked over herself in her mirror again, and pulled out her rarely used bag of makeup. She added a light foundation, just enough to replace what had worn off in the space of the day, and a very light shadow and lipstick, which she covered over with chap stick, because she thought it was too bright on its own. She blotted her lips, smiled at her reflection to check her teeth, and then put everything back away and made her way back out into the living room, smoothing her bed covers and turning out lights as she went. She glanced at the clock—7:10.

Good. She had taken up a good deal of her waiting time. She looked around her apartment—the last time Grissom had been here, she'd ended up curled up on her chair crying. She had been drinking at the time, on suspension, and pretty sure she was going to lose her job and the only reason she had moved to the god-forsaken desert in the first place, so it hadn't been a big concern how tidy it was.

She moved to her desk, putting away books on her book shelf and piling spare forensics journals into a file box that she slid, out of sight, under the desk. All papers went into a drawer, on top of the unpaid bills, and she shut down her lap top, closing it once it had finished. Then it occurred to her that she had shredded mail, and that there was now garbage in her apartment. She never left the apartment without emptying her garbage and making her bed, just in case she didn't come back to it. She hadn't confided this in anyone—Grissom least of all. He already had concerns about her lack of ability to cope with abuse cases, though he had eased up a bit once she'd told him about her own history. She glanced at the clock—7:22.

She took the garbage out of the can by hand, since it was only a few shredded papers and the stem and core of her grapes and apple, and stepped outside into her hallway, dropping them quickly down the trash shoot and going back inside to wash her hands. After drying them, she replaced the towel in its place, tucked in the handle of the refrigerator, and thought maybe she'd just check her appearance in the mirror once more before—


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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There was a knock on her door. She took a slow, deep breath, not wanting to seem like she'd been waiting so eagerly, and then walked as slowly as she could force herself to the door. She glanced out the peephole, just in case, to be greeted by her boss's distorted features. She couldn't help but smile and quickly unlocked all the locks she had just relocked after her garbage dump, pulling the door open. Grissom smiled softly at her, a look in his eyes that was a bit too knowing for her taste, but that was Grissom. His knowing-too-well-ness was an inescapable character trait.

"Hey, come in. I'm just going to grab my purse." He stepped in and she closed the door behind him and then moved around him to take her things from the bar top. When she glanced back up, he was inspecting her door.

"You feel the need for all three of these?" He asked, seeming a little surprised. Color rose in Sara's cheeks.

"There were some break-ins in the neighborhood a month or so ago. You know how one break-in gone wrong can end in a murder…" She swallowed hard, looking at the floor as she moved to slip her shoes back on. She avoided his eyes, glad she had taken the trash out before he arrived, and slung her purse over her shoulder a little too aggressively, clutching her keys in her right hand. "Ready?"

He opened her door and stood to one side to let her move past him. She did so a bit awkwardly, but resigned herself to put that awkwardness aside. If he felt uncomfortable the entire time, he would think he'd been right not to take her up on dinner in the first place. When he had stepped into the hall and closed the door behind himself, she smiled brightly and moved to lock the doors, regretting immediately her decision to be carefree—now she couldn't reasonably try to hide that there were two separate keys for her door. He would definitely pick up that she was hiding something, even if he didn't pick up what. Once locked, she turned and smiled again, and they made their way to the elevator in a state of silence.

Sara didn't want to talk about work, but also couldn't think of any other ice breaker, so she began her story about something foolish Greg had done in the lab yesterday. He rolled his eyes at first, but a reluctant smile grazed his lips when she nudged him gently. "It's funny. Admit it."

"If I didn't have to be in charge of his shenanigans it would be a lot funnier."

She rolled her eyes at his grumpiness, feeling that the ice was broken now, at least. She climbed into his vehicle with little difficulty—the dress and heels had been easier to manage in her little car—and buckled up automatically. He glanced over at her, and then turned behind him to back up, out of the visitor parking space.

"So, where are we going?"

"A little Italian place I like, close to my townhouse. It's not well known, but it's nice, and I figured pasta was a good option for a vegetarian."

She smiled—not that he knew she was a vegetarian, there was a plant in her apartment that was the result of that argument, but because he'd taken it into consideration when choosing the restaurant. It showed prior thought. She glanced at him then, taking in for the first time the details of his appearance that she'd been too self-conscious to notice in the apartment. He was wearing nice gray slacks and a long-sleeve blue button up that she was sure he hadn't been wearing earlier in the day—he'd had short-sleeves. His hair had been combed down, his curls less unruly than normal, and she noticed now, taking in a deep breath, that he smelled good.

Although she had decided not to get her hopes up, the amount of effort he had put in sabotaged this effort. She beamed, thinking of him going home and fretting about what to wear or which cologne to use. He glanced over at her again.

"What are you smiling at?" She looked at him, unable to pull the grin from her face.

"You smell nice." His eyebrows narrowed as he smiled in response—as if he was both happy and confused at her words.

"Thank you. Did I mention you look… beautiful?" He had wanted to say nice, but it felt like a repeat of the conversation they'd had earlier, and that seemed… too repetitive, like he didn't mean it. He did.

"Since when have you cared about beauty?" She asked him, repeating what she'd once said to him on the side of an ice rink. He smiled wryly but did not reply. His response at the time had been "since I met you." He obviously felt this did not bear repeating. That didn't dampen her spirits, and shortly he was circling the parking lot, looking for a close space. Once parked, he got out quickly, trying to get to Sara's door to open it for her, but she hadn't known what he was doing, and opened it herself instead. Climbing out, she straightened her dress a little self-consciously, trying not to worry about it so much, and walked into the restaurant with him at her side. She thought, for a moment, that he had raised his hand to rest on her lower back to guide her inside, but she never felt contact, and when she glanced back at him, his hands were at his side.

He requested a table for two from a man he apparently knew well, and then were seated after only a moment. It was the type of place that people went to for the atmosphere, whether the food was good or not. It was darker in the area they were seated, a lamp dangling above their heads dispersing a warm glow over the small table. Sara was certain that if she scooted her body completely up to the table, their knees would be touching. It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the lighting, and then she lifted her menu slowly and opened it.

"Wine?" She peeked over the top of her menu. His eyebrows were raised in a question. She smiled. Wine was definitely a date-drink.

"I would love some."

He grinned. "Is it still Merlot?"

A surprised smile graced her lips, making her eyes alight. "How did you know that?"

"All those conferences we kept 'bumping into each other' at, way back when… At the cocktail parties the colleges would hold for their 'honored guests', you would always be drinking Merlot."

Her eyes crinkled slightly—not losing their happiness, but reverting, just slightly, to the look she had when examining evidence. How had he remembered something that had happened over six years ago?

When the waiter greeted them, he too appeared to know Grissom, and asked how he had been before requesting their drink orders. Grissom ordered for the pair of them—two glasses of Merlot. The waiter smiled and walked away. Sara turned her eyes back to the menu, seeking out her meal of choice for the evening. Pasta was good, but so many of the sauces were garlicky, which was not a good choice on a first date. The corners of her mouth twitched as she thought the words—it felt like one, anyway. She couldn't help her hopes being lifted, just a little, considering all he'd said tonight. Maybe he _had_ changed his mind; she hadn't really believed it was possible, at least not anytime soon.

"So… what did you drink, at those cocktail parties? I can't seem to remember."

He smiled, folding his menu in front of him. "Generally, whatever you were having… that way, if I asked if you'd like another, while we talked, I knew what to get you."

She laughed. She hadn't expected to laugh. "So you… what? Stalked down my bar tenders and made them remember what one out of a crowd had ordered?"

He smiled indulgently. "No, pretty shortly I realized your preference and just… assumed. I don't think I ever returned with a wrong drink though."

She thought back, trying to remember and separate the drinks from the rest of the evening. "No, I guess not. I just remember spending the time you were away thinking of new questions, to keep you talking to me."

He looked down, smiling. "Part of me knew that, even then."

Her eyes met his for a moment, and she made a decision. He knew how she felt, after all…

"But you never acted." It wasn't a question, yet it begged an explanation.

"No. You were… too young, too beautiful… how could I explain it away as interest in a colleague? The power structure was all off…"

Normally this statement would have made her blush, but instead a strange, unidentifiable smile crossed her lips. His eyes asked the question, and she shook her head, choosing instead to respond to his words, not expound on her memories. "I'm a colleague _now_."

Grissom tilted his head. "I'm your boss now. Power structure. And… aren't you out to dinner with me '_now_'?"

The waiter arrived then, forcing Sara to close her mouth and they quickly ordered. When he was gone, they started on wine and bread in silence. It was not a comfortable silence, but not uncomfortable either. It felt like progress.

"No."

Grissom looked up from his bread in surprise, chewing slowly and then swallowing, before asking, "No?"

"The power structure might have been off then, but it isn't now. At least, not any more than it would be if nothing ever happened between us. We have a history. We have an attraction. And you know more about me, personally, than anyone I've ever been intimate with. It would always be off, even if we never acted on it."

He was quiet for a moment, and then smiled softly. "I would not have guessed that about you."

"What? Guessed what?"  
"That you were afraid of disclosure in a relationship… I guess I thought… after we processed the jet…"

She finished for him. "Any girl who can join the mile high club and speak of it freely probably isn't afraid to share her personal life? That's the fallacy though… I made a concerted effort to be adventurous and revealing sexually, so that one would not assume I was less than revealing in other aspects."

Grissom watched her face as she spoke—how her eyes narrowed when she described having to lie with her body to hide the lies from her mouth—how the corners of her lips turned down when she said 'revealing' like just the word made her uncomfortable—how her entire face was now positioned downwards, though she had hardly moved it.

"So… I know you better than… any man you've ever known."

Her lips twitched as she looked back up to him, distracted from her confession. "Well, you know my inside better… you certainly don't know my outside better."

He shrugged. "I don't know that that's true. Wouldn't you say you know my body, lacking certain details, just simply the shape and the dimensions and the… essence of it… at least as well as anyone I've slept with?"

Color filled her cheeks, at both of his implications, and considered. "I suppose… yes, at least as well, minus… some details."

They were silent for a moment, and then the waiter was there, asking if they'd each like another glass. Grissom responded yes, and he topped them off at the table, before sweeping back to the kitchen. Sara took a slow drink, focusing on how it tasted in her mouth and moved down her throat as she swallowed, and decided she would just say it. She might not ever get another chance.

"Listen… how about a freebie?"

Grissom coughed, mid-drink, and had to snatch up his napkin to prevent making a mess of himself. When he had sufficiently recovered, he took the time to look over her face again before answering. "A freebie?" He wasn't entirely sure he understood her, and thought clarification might prevent him from offending her with his assumption. She would not have been offended: he had assumed correctly.

"Just for tonight, you put aside your reasons not to and your rationalizations, you… have sex with me," She had wavered from 'make love to me,' because she thought the L-word might be too much just now. "And afterwards, we go back to normal. Then you have all the information. If your reasons still stand, you can choose not to do it again, and it never happened."

His heart was pounding, and he took a deep breath to calm himself before responding. "And if my reasons… fall through?"

She shrugged. "Then I was right all along, and we can… I dunno, have dinner again…"

He tapped his foot on the floor beneath the table and removed his glasses, trying to give himself a moment to process her suggestion. He rubbed his hands over his face, and was startled when he pulled them back to see a plate being set before him, and then another before Sara. He put his glasses back on.

"Can I get you folks anything else right away?"

Grissom shook his head, and Sara replied, "No, Thank you." Their eyes met again, and Grissom sighed.

"I don't do… freebies."

She smiled, and he couldn't understand why at first. "I know you don't. That's part of the appeal… your respect for women. But I know that you respect me. You could make a one-time exception…"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

She shrugged again, lifting up a fork to cut a piece of ravioli in half before raising it to her mouth.

He grumbled then, picking up his own fork and beginning to eat rather less gracefully. Silence again. Sara was beginning to think that was the apparent theme of the evening. She wasn't giving up yet though. She reached for her glass again, raised it to her lips, and said softly, though she knew he would hear her quite well, "You could tie me up." And then drank slowly, as if nothing had been said.

He nearly choked again. Raising his napkin to restore his dignity a second time, he looked at her, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

She smiled. "Just enticing the offer. Different times when you've had to… restrain me, to determine evidence… those have been the times when I broke the tension, rather than you. I just kinda figured it was… something you liked."

He swallowed hard, and didn't respond for a moment. They both continued eating. Then he set his fork down rather noisily. "You see, that's why I couldn't make an exception with you."

She looked alarmed now, and set down her fork as well. "What? Why?" Apparently this was backfiring. She had thought the offer was generous… that surely it would make him consider her proposal, at least.

"Because you're too eager to please. I don't want to sleep with the woman you think I want you to be. What would be the appeal in that? If all I wanted was someone to do as I asked and forget about it later, I would pay someone to do it."

She sat in silence for a moment, surprised at his outburst. At first she didn't know how to respond, but she dissected the statements, analyzing each in turn, and this made it easier to answer instead of bursting into tears. She didn't want to cry in front of him again.

"But… you _do_ want to sleep with me. …I don't think there's anything wrong with playing out your partner's fantasies if both parties are consenting. It would be to please you, but it wouldn't be… what you're implying. It wouldn't be another way to hide myself, because I have nothing left to hide from you. You know what I kept from the others and more—you know me more thoroughly and intimately than I have ever been known. How could I hide, even if I wanted to?"

She was the one to pick up her fork aggressively this time, finishing off the last few pieces of ravioli. Despite the distracting conversation, the food had been delicious. She would have to remember this place… though she would probably run into Grissom here, and if the night didn't go well… maybe she didn't want that.

When she had finished, pushing her plate slightly forward, toward the center of the table, and removing her napkin from her lap, she chanced a glance at him again. He had finished too, and was watching her thoughtfully.

"Let's just… finish the evening with no more talk of… freebies. Did you want dessert?"

She half-smiled, thinking. "I have a whole cheesecake I just bought yesterday at home. We could go back to my place and have a slice and some coffee?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Your place?"

She shrugged, taking the final drink from her wine glass before speaking. "Why not? You afraid I'm going to jump you?" He rolled his eyes and her breath caught in her throat—she never got used to how blue they were.

"I'm pretty sure I could get away, Sara." She smiled.

"It's settled then. Cheesecake at my place."

Grissom opened his mouth to argue, but the waiter arrived then, inquiring about dessert and leaving the check when they declined. Grissom pulled it toward himself and Sara put a hand over his, to stop him. "I can pay for my half, Grissom." His eyes narrowed.

"Don't be silly. I asked you to dinner. I'm paying." He placed a card in the black folder and pushed it to the edge of the table.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. …You know, only _you_ could offer a "freebie" with one breath and then worry about me paying with the next…" She laughed.

"It's only around you that I'm so crazy."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them...

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The waiter returned with Grissom's card and Sara looked up in surprise. She hadn't noticed him take it in the first place. Grissom replaced his card in a worn, black leather wallet and signed the slip, writing in gratuity, before looking back up to her. He caught her with a day-dreamy look on her face and smiled, wondering what she'd been thinking about. He stood and moved around the table to pull her chair out as she stood up. She smiled in surprise and they walked out of the restaurant, a little closer together than when they had walked in. He opened her car door for her as well, and they drove back to her apartment in what could not help but be described as a comfortable silence.

She waited this time, allowing him to come around and open the door again, a big smile inescapable on her face. She thought about the evening they'd had as they walked inside—she hadn't anticipated it being so much… _fun_. She'd had fun with Grissom before now, of course, but it had been a long time since then, filled mostly with awkward silences and those "moments" Grissom liked to pretend had never happened. She was happy they had their witty banter back, at least.

By now they'd entered the elevator and Grissom pushed the number "3." Sara liked that he seemed to feel at home in her building. They exited as the doors opened and made their way to her door, Sara pulling out her keys and unlocking her multiple locks, disregarding his wry smile. Once into the small entryway, Sara relocked all of her locks and slipped her shoes off, bending to tuck them against the wall by the coat closet. Her purse was discarded on the bar top, and she turned back to look at him, to make sure he was coming past the doorway. He had removed his shoes as well, and was placing them in a neat row beside hers.

He looked up and, catching her expression, asked, "What?"

"You didn't… have to take your shoes off. It was… force of habit, for me."

He smiled. "Well, now you know I'm not afraid of being… 'jumped'." She laughed and gestured that he should take a seat at her little table before moving into her kitchen and starting a fresh pot of coffee.

"Black?"

"Of course." He smiled, knowing that she knew this already. She pulled mugs out of her cupboard and then plates from a second cupboard, and finally two forks from the drawer beneath her coffee maker. Cheesecake was pulled from the fridge, and she leaned forward to set one side of the variety tray on the breakfast bar.

"Which kind would you like?"

Grissom had watched her through all of this, and selected one with chocolate, trying to keep his eyes from the little piece of lace at the front of her dress. She had been leaning, after all.

She dished up the pair of them and set the small plates on the table in time for the coffee to finish brewing. She poured them each a cup and moved into her small dining area, setting one before him and one before herself.

"Don't you like sugar in yours?" She glanced up at him, her mug a half inch from her lips, and smiled.

"I'm having it with sugar." She gestured to the cheesecake. His eyes rolled again, keeping the smile on her face.

It was very good cheesecake—the kind that facilitates conversation as a rule—and before they knew what they were doing, they had been talking more freely than they had all night. Sara swallowed her bite indignantly, her voice rising in pitch as she tried to defend herself.

"Just because I said I'd get dinner with Greg does not mean anything happened! I took a rain check!"

"He could call it in anytime. Would you offer him a freebie too?" He grinned.

He received a swift, though not painful, kick under the table. "You know I wouldn't."

He smiled softly, unable to help himself. "I do know. But really, how many dates would it take…?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I probably wouldn't accept a second date. When he asked me it was… I was trying to… get out more."

Grissom nodded. "You really should, too."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You're the one who expects me to be ready to pull an extra shift at a moment's notice…"

The corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn't say anything. He didn't like the idea that she would be too occupied to come in to work, even if it was her day off. There was a brief moment, and when he didn't say anything, she stood up. "Can I get you more coffee? Another piece of cheesecake? I can open a bottle of merlot?"

His blue eyes sought her brown. He probably shouldn't stay much longer… and wine was a bad idea. Somehow he felt deflated as he spoke, but he let the words come out anyway. "No, I should… probably get going."

"Really? Are you tired? I feel like, on days off, I still can't sleep 'til close to when shift would end, even if I've been up all day…"

She was calling his bluff, trying to make him reconsider his need to leave. And though he'd been dying to find an excuse to touch that damned dress all night, just to know if it felt as silky as it looked, he knew staying would lead to a harder decision yet, one he had already made, under less pressure. He stood.

"I'm a little tired. The wine, you know."

The corner of her mouth twisted, but she shrugged, walking him back to the little entryway and her doorway while he put his shoes back on. She stood, not blocking his way, but before the door, hoping against all odds that he would kiss her. There was a part of him, she knew, that had wanted to take her up on her offer tonight. She took a deep breath as he rose, shoes now firmly in place.

"I actually had fun tonight," she told him. "I wasn't expecting that."

He chuckled. "You agreed to something you thought would make you miserable?"

"Not miserable, no. Just… it's been a long time since you've joked with me."

He smiled. "I had fun too." There was moment of hesitation, their eyes locked in together, and then Grissom turned from her, reaching for the door handle. "We should… do this again sometime."

He didn't turn around immediately when she didn't respond, but when the lag time became too long, he reluctantly turned and was alarmed by the look on her face. "Sara?"

She shook her head, angry at herself for allowing herself to get her hopes up. "You know, you don't have to kiss me and you don't have to sleep with me, and you don't even have to want to. But at the end of the night, if you're completely disinterested, kindly have the courtesy to tell me so, because I have to go to work tomorrow and I don't want to see you while disillusioned that we might 'do it again sometime.' You know as well as I do that it means we won't do this again, ever. I would have expected this from the average man, but not from you Gil Grissom."

His jaw had dropped, and she sniffled, trying desperately to keep herself from crying. Grissom was frozen in place, alarmed and ashamed and uncertain. How could he tell her that he didn't want her when he did? When he had wanted her for years and it had only been by sheer force of will and overpowering fear that he had managed to keep himself away from her?

Didn't she understand that he wasn't any good for her? That it would only mean sacrificing both their jobs for a man who could never be what she wanted or needed? Didn't she understand that he just couldn't take advantage of her like that, and would only be a disappointment to her in the end? And how, when she knew him so well, could she not understand that he must always look and look and look again before he leaped? When he didn't respond, she got louder.

"Just tell me! You have to stop screwing with my head, Grissom! Say that you don't want me, that I was never all that enticing a temptation in the first place, and that I've just been fucking kidding myself for seven years, and then get out!" She stubbornly blinked tears from the corners of her eyes, their unwelcome presence making her even angrier.

Grissom could not say those words, and so said nothing at first, taking in the anguished expression on her face. It reminded him, unavoidably, of another moment between them. Though the face was not the same, the expression was similar—the hurt in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the defensive way she moved and held herself. It reminded him of when he'd told her he didn't know what to do about them. Her response had been that by the time he figured it out, it was going to be too late. Too late.

Before he knew what he was doing, Grissom had crossed the few feet it took to reach her and cupped her trembling face in his large hands. He closed his eyes, avoiding meeting hers, and bent down to press his lips to hers. She did not immediately return the kiss, and he felt her lips shudder beneath his. He started to pull from her, worried that she had not wanted this—that perhaps his reluctance to kiss her previously had been the final straw—the dreaded 'too late.' But as he started to, her hands trembled against his chest and she desperately leaned in, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling him back down to her. Her hands gripped the shoulders of his shirt and her lips captured his again in the most desperately passionate kiss he'd ever been a part of. It swept him up, made him dizzy and lightheaded, made him believe in things that were impossible.

Without any conscious decision to do so, he had pushed her body up against the door and his hands were at her waist now, gripping her sides in earnest. The silk ran under his fingers and he trembled himself—it felt better than he could have imagined. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers crept into his curls, gripping them tightly, as if she needed an anchor to prove it was real. She pushed her body up from the door to press tightly against him, and he felt a warmth building in his chest. God—he was finally, finally, kissing Sara Sidle.

And then he was being pushed backwards, until he hit the wall between the closet and the kitchen, her hands still in his hair and her body still tight against him. He gasped softly at the intensity with which she kissed him, and she took advantage, sliding her tongue eagerly into his mouth and caressing his. He moaned softly and lifted his own, only to find that she had pulled from him, her mouth now on his neck, laying kisses across the delicate skin. His hands tightened around her waist—god that silk was good—and he felt goose bumps raise on his neck and down his arms. She moved her urgent kisses up and captured his mouth again, her fingers tugging impatiently at the topmost of the buttons on his shirt.

He thought vaguely, through the delirium and passion of the kiss, that perhaps he should stop her, but he knew he simply did not have the will power at this point. She had finally managed the button and make quick work of the others, finally lifting her hands to his shoulders to pull it off around his arms. He allowed it, but her hands were then frantically grasping at the bottom of his white undershirt, and he hesitated, stopping the motion by turning them both around and pushing her hard against the wall. She gasped against his mouth and he slid his tongue in, having not yet had the pleasure. While sliding his over hers—and completely lost in the feel of her mouth and her body and her rapid breathing against his chest—he suddenly broke the kiss, attaching himself to her neck and moving down the line of her v-neck until he could grasp her thighs and thrust her up, off her feet, pinned between the wall and his chest.

She gasped again, in surprise, but also, he thought, in desire. She wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation and moaned as he buried his face in her neck and chest again. Sara tried very, very hard, in this moment, not to speak… not to jinx anything… but she couldn't help it. Lost in the feel of his mouth and his body between her legs and the absolute disbelief that this was happening, she moaned out softly, "I can't believe you're finally touching me…" She immediately regret her words.

His lips froze in place, as Grissom realized the gravity of his actions and tried, desperately, to go back to the place where he was only looking, not yet leaping. He lifted his head up, surveying the woman who had been a constant desire since the moment he'd met her. She met his eyes without hesitation, though there was fear in their depths. Long strands of hair had fallen free from their bindings and lay against the side of her face. Her tight lips turned down at the corners and she was bracing her whole body for the blow he was about to deliver, despite her chest still rising and falling rapidly from a moment previous' passion.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

When he didn't speak, she spoke for him. "You came to your senses. I get it." She arched her body against his, to get leverage to lower first one foot and then the other back to the ground. She did not remove her arms from around his neck, however, and his hands lay awkwardly at his sides, no longer needed to hold her up. Once absent a reason to grip her thighs, however, he felt he very much needed another. He did not back away from her, but held her gaze, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

She tilted her head slightly, and the corners of her mouth rose. Apparently he had not completely come to his senses… maybe he just needed some convincing. "It's a shame, though. You revealed to me just how hard it is for you to keep avoiding my advances… you broke your resolve… and you still didn't get to see me in anything less than what you saw this afternoon, in your office." She arched her body yet again, pushing off the wall and pressing her hips against his as she rose to standing and then turned herself around and leaned against the wall, her back now to him.

He watched her, his heart hammering hard again. Was she truly telling him to unzip her dress? She glanced over her shoulder at him, as if to ask him what he was waiting for, and without thinking about his actions he rose a shaking hand to the zipper and slowly unzipped it to the bottom, revealing the clasp of her bra and the waist band of lacy underwear. He drew a shaking breath as she turned herself around again, slipping the shoulders of the dress down her arms and allowing the silken thing to fall down her legs with more speed than he would have imagined.

He had not imagined Sara to be the type of girl to wear matching sets, though he considered briefly that she might wear different things to a wedding as opposed to work. His eyes roamed greedily over her body, as she stood vulnerable in front of him, unable to tear himself from something he had imagined so many times he could not now count them. The underwear were simple—white lace over solid, baby pink—the waist band the only stretch of fabric connecting the front to the back over her hips, a pink bow at the center of each hip. The bra was matching, a little pink bow in the center and at the junctures of cup and strap. He trembled and Sara stepped closer, her newly exposed breasts brushing against his chest.

"It's a new set… did you want to feel? I love how _rough_ lace can be…"

A heat and a tingling had spread through his body, from deep in his stomach out to his fingers and down his thighs into his toes. He hesitated, and without realizing it, his breathing had sped up again, though he hadn't touched her since she'd pulled herself down from him. The tingling intensified as he thought about her legs wrapped around his waist again. He drew in a breath, loud and tremulous, and Sara smiled almost wickedly, quickly replacing that expression with one of innocence.

She leaned back against the wall again, leaving her hips out half a foot, within inches of his, and very slowly pressed her wrists together and raised them above her head, against the wall, as if she were restrained there. Something deep within his chest shook fiercely and finally broke when she dragged her tongue slowly across her top lip—his resolve. Before her tongue could finish its journey it was tangled up in his and his hands were dragging her back up, into his arms, those long, luxurious legs wrapping even more tightly around his waist, where the extent of his desire had become painfully obvious. She gasped and then moaned into his mouth as he pinned her to the wall by his hips and allowed his hands to roam over her body, squeezing and then finally tearing the lace from her breast to feel it in his hand. The nipple was hard against his palm and the entire breast was taut and uplifted—begging to be explored.

Without wasting a moment, his hands wound around her back and unclasped the bra with the skills of a master, tossing it aside almost disdainfully, and lowering his head into her heaving bosom. Her hips rocked up against him as soon as his tongue made contact with the aforementioned nipple, and she let out a moan that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made his need suddenly too urgent to control—it was not in surprise or slight enjoyment, but absolute longing and pleasure. He toyed with it only a moment, and then drug himself up, his frantic eyes begging her to lower her head and acknowledge him. As soon as their eyes met, the communication was clear—he wanted to know where the bedroom was.

"Last door… on the left… in the hallway." He took her quickly there, careful not to bump into walls, and still managing to kiss, lick, and nibble parts of her chest intermittently until he reached the door and pushed her through it. He left the light off, moving more slowly now, to set her gently on the bed—across the wide way, rather than how one would sleep. She held onto him, so that he could not stand fully upright once he had laid her down, and his eyes caught hers again, questioning her unwillingness to let go. "Don't… get cold feet again."

And though that was certainly like him, Grissom smiled all the same—did she really think he had the strength of will to pull himself from her _now_? He'd finally had a taste of the temptress of half a decade, and there was no part of his body that wasn't aching for her. He dipped in more slowly, wanting to let the passion build, and kissed her again. His hands found her breasts and squeezed them gently, his thumbs running over her nipples until she moaned in his mouth and then he let his hands move down, tracing her silhouette, feeling the lace over her and gripping it to hitch her hips up, so that he could push himself against her while still kneeling.

She rocked her hips when she felt him, his erection a blatant distraction even through his pants, and then moved her hands down frantically, undoing his belt and pulling it out from his loops to rest on the bed behind her. Her deft fingers found the clasp then, and they slid down his legs without assistance. He broke the kiss, but kept eye contact, as he slipped out of his shoes and socks and stepped out of the pants now around his ankles. He moved himself back up to her, and then gasped aloud to find her hand waiting for him there, slipping him out through the hole and gripping him tightly, pumping him slowly. His head fell against her chest again and he lay there panting, unable to gather the strength to stop something that felt so unbelievable.

"Lay down." He lifted his head when she spoke, and after a moment, understood and moved himself to lay at the pillows, across the bed. She crawled up to him, pressed her lips to his in a searing kiss, and pulled the undershirt off as quickly as possible. She took her time then, kissing his neck and down his chest as his hands roamed over her body, delighting in that which he had only ever dreamed of. When she reached the waistband of his underwear, she gripped and pulled it down with enough force that he gasped again, partly from how turned on he was by her aggression, and partly because he was now completely exposed. She kissed his inner thighs until he thought he would explode from anticipation, and then flicked her tongue quickly and lightly across the tip of his erection.

His hips rocked up without his meaning them too, and his breath was suddenly caught in his throat. She repeated the motion, to the same end, and then dragged her tongue slowly up the length of him, from base to tip. He moaned and shivered, heat spreading across his skin again and building, liquid and burning, near the base of his spine. It was when she did this again that he lowered a hand and caught her face gently, pulling her up to him. Her eyes were distraught—confused and concerned that he hadn't liked what she'd been doing to him. It was quite the opposite.

"Sara, darling… you… you don't have to do this. I told you, I want to be with you, not the person you think I want you to be."

A slow smile crept over her lips. "I _want_ to do this. As… long as you like it?" Her hand had snuck back down, unbeknownst to him, and she dragged a single fingernail lightly up the path her tongue had made a moment before. His "Oh god!" and moan were enough of an answer for her, and she dived back down, no longer teasing but taking him into her mouth and sucking, her tongue sliding up and down the base as she moved. He groaned, no longer even aware of anything else around him, his hips arching up and rocking in time with her movements. Fire raced through his body as the pressure deep within him built higher and higher. His hands reached down and tangled in her hair and he was moaning her name when he realized he was too close—he wasn't going to be able to stop in time. Before he could warn her, however, her mouth had pulled from him and the pressure decreased. His entire body shook from being raced to the brink and never sent over. He looked down at her, panting, about to apologize, when she took him in her hands again.

Using her mouth and her hands she brought him to the edge and back again twice more before he'd absolutely had it and pulled her up to him and then flipped them over so he was on top of her more quickly than she could grasp what had happened. She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered it with his own, and then pulled up. "It's my turn now."

He, too, started slow, moving his kisses across her neck and then down her body, spending a rather longer time at her chest than she had at his. She moaned softly at his gentle tugs and nips and her left hand searched for the belt she had left of the bed. Finally grasping it, she brought it up and over her head, looping it around one of the wrought-iron curving bars in her headboard and tucking her hands into the loop before pulling it tight. When she tightened it, the buckle hitting the iron with a clang, her hands became immobilized—unable to free herself the way she was bound. At the sound, Grissom looked up from kissing her stomach in alarm and, seeing her hands at the headboard, moved up her stomach to see what she had done.

His eyes narrowed in surprise. "How did you do that? …Sara, I told you that—" She interrupted him.

"Just because I do something beyond the bare minimums in bed doesn't mean it's for a bad reason. Grissom…Gil," She corrected, a smile creeping over her face at his look of surprise, "If we'd been on that Delta airlines flight, I would still have joined the Mile High Club—it just would have been because I sincerely couldn't wait 'til we landed to get my hands on you, rather than to hide myself… So please, just trust me?"

His eyes remained narrowed, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled. She had the strangest urge to kiss the crumpled skin, and did so when his silence continued. "Now, didn't you say it was _my_ turn?" She tugged her arms gently, to remind him of her restraints, and smiled wide when desire and amusement flashed simultaneously in his eyes. He kissed her quickly, biting her bottom lip as he pulled away, and moved back down to her stomach to continue where he had left off.

He kissed and sucked his way down her hips and then back up her inner thighs, his short beard tickling and scratching the delicate skin and making her moan under her breath and arch her back before he had even gotten close to touching her. As his mouth and gently fingertips trailed over her skin—avoiding at all costs the area he most wanted to explore—and her breathing steadily increased to a fevered pant, she thought idly how easy and natural it felt to be with him; she hadn't yet worried about how she sounded or looked or doubted his reactions to her.

His hands slid up her hips, his whiskers still tickling between her legs as he kissed most and more passionately towards her center. His fingers wrapped around the thin waist band at her sides and inched her underwear down, little by little, moving his mouth up to follow them down and stopping as she rocked her hips up again—a silent pleading to have her need satisfied. He slid the panties the rest of the way down her legs, keeping his face right above her still, and blowing softly on her. Her resultant moan was half a desperate whine, and then she was begging him.

"God… please, please touch me, please don't make me wait anymore…"

A single finger slid down her center, pushing just a fraction into it. She gasped and moaned out another "please," tugging now at her restraints, fed up waiting for him. He smiled, feeling himself harden further—if that were possible—at how much she wanted him. Without warning, he plunged his finger into her, pushing in and out fast and then adding another when it became clear she was more than ready for it. She was completely uninhibited in her desire—grinding against his fingers, rocking her hips up, and letting out a nonsensical stream of noises, unable to express the pleasure he was giving her. He slowed his fingers then, and a whimper escaped her lips, only to be silenced by his tongue flicking over her clitoris.

"Oh god! Oh god! Gil! Please, please, please…" Her words faded out into another stream of moans as his tongue flicked her again, and then working his fingers up to speed again. When he felt her tighten around his fingers, desperate for every last drop of pleasure, he lowered his mouth to her, sucking and licking her clit while his fingers pounded in and out of her.

A thousand sensations were sizzling across her skin, burning and tingling and making her tremble with each new wave of pleasure—she was so close, she was going to come any second—her hips froze and she tightened around him, bracing and praying for release. As soon as she froze, his fingers and mouth fell from her and were immediately replaced by the entire length of him burying himself deep inside her. The tremors picked up where they left off and without any conscious intention to, she was thrusting hard against him as just his presence inside her pushed her full force over the edge of her climax. He continued his motion, slowing down as her screams subsided, until she was silent and panting and so out of her mind she could hardly focus her eyes on him. When she did, he bent down again, kissing her lips softly and sweetly. He broke from her and unstrapped her hands quickly.

She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest, delirious with pleasure—but not so much that she did not notice the smug look on his face. Between pants, she asked him softly, "What?"

A grin broke across his face that he seemed unable to control. "Just… a little proud of how easy that was. I've never made anyone… come…" Sara couldn't help but smile as the awkward phrasings fell from his lips, "quite so quickly." She rolled her eyes.

"You shouldn't be that proud. It took seven years of foreplay." But nothing could wipe the grin from his face and, once her breathing had slowed, he started moving inside of her again, gently rocking against her, his eyes locked on hers. Sara tried her hardest to keep her eyes open—it was intense and sensual and erotic to stare deeply into those blue eyes as they slowly built their pleasures up together. This wasn't just sex right now, no matter what Grissom decided to do about this night afterwards—this was making love.

Eyes locked together, even when they met to kiss, tongues trailing over each other and moans reverberating in the others' mouth, they rocked together in a perfect time with each other. They built off each others' movements and sounds, racing each other as each thrust became more urgent, bodies melded together. He pumped harder and harder into her as their breathing peaked and the fire across their skin burned its brightest and concentrated deep within them. Suddenly Sara let out a scream, her eyes closing in pleasure as her orgasm ripped through her, redefining pleasure and stunning all her senses into oblivion as she tightened around him, sending him into oblivion with her. They rocked together, screaming or silent, neither knew nor could tell, until every last ounce of energy had been spent and every tremor of gratification had been stilled.

He had collapsed against her body, breathless and boneless and unable to support himself a minute more. Her arms wrapped around him as her legs fell away and her fingers wrapped into the sweat-matted salt and pepper curls at the back of his head. After a moment, when their breathing had slowed, he reluctantly pulled from her and lay on his side, pulling her to her side to lie against his chest so he could wrap his arms around her too. She slipped her right leg between his and sighed deeply, her face buried in his chest hair, a warm air of satisfaction and contentment drifting sleepily around them. Neither of them spoke a word, nor even had the energy to think, as they feel deeply and soundly asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own them, but see how nicely I play with them!

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When Sara opened her eyes, her room was dark. She wrinkled her nose—his chest hair was tickling it. She pulled her head back and slowly rolled onto her back, still close to him, but no longer wrapped up in him. She allowed herself an indulgent moment to watch him—he was breathing softly, the corners of his mouth turned up, his curls tousled. His glasses were off, presumably on the nightstand on his side of the bed, which meant he'd already been up. Turning from the beautiful man in her bed, she stretched her body, her muscles stiff but in a positively delicious way—she still had a feeling of deep contentedness. Once having stretched, she realized she had to pee, and slipped quietly out of bed and tip toed to the bathroom. She washed her hands and then crept back to bed, trying to slip between her light blue satin sheets without disturbing Grissom.

Before she could set her head down, he had turned to face her, a smile on those perfect lips. She couldn't help but smile too.

"I missed you." Her heart fluttered at his words, but she still responded in the tone of their usual banter.

"You were asleep when I left. You couldn't have missed me even a minute." He was not drawn into her provocation though, instead reaching out and pulling her close up to his body again, and laying a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"It was a minute too long." She blushed, unsure how to respond to a Grissom who did not seem to be torn about his actions or feelings.

"I just… ran to the bathroom."

He nodded knowingly. "It's the body's natural defense against infections…STD's… the ammonia in urine can kill bacteria, so when—" Her kiss interrupted his explanation. When she pulled from him, he looked surprised, and she giggled.

"You're even a scientist in bed…"

He smiled too, and then, after a slight hesitation, seemed to expound on a thought which had just occurred to him. "Speaking of… infections… we didn't use any… protection."

"I don't have any STD's." She said, a little too defensively, shaking her head. His hands ran over her sides soothingly.

"I wasn't implying that you did, Sara, and for the record, neither do I." She narrowed her eyes, having never thought that he would. "The reference to infections just reminded me that we didn't use a condom—I assumed you would not have let us finish if you were not on some other method of birth control, but I thought that I would double check…"

"Oh." She was embarrassed now, at her overreaction, but quickly recovered. "No, yeah, of course I wouldn't. We're safe."

He nodded, and then smiled gently, sympathetically. "You don't need to be defensive, Sara… You asked me to trust you; I'm asking you the same. I hardly think you can view me as your boss right now."

She laughed softly, a distance in her eyes, but it was fading. "You look good in my bed… I don't think I'll ever be quite as intimidated by you again. I still will be, but there will be the thought in the back of my mind that you're only a man, underneath all that frightening morality and science…"

He laughed and kissed her again, and her heart pounded in her chest—one-night stands didn't kiss so much. Kissing was more personal than sex… it implied attraction rather than arousal. He did not seem to be a man who felt he had made a mistake or who was regretful of the night he had spent with her. He had been more hesitant leading up to the act than he was now, in the aftermath, which seemed backwards to Sara, but in a positive way. Most men were gung-ho during the lead up, and hesitant after the fact. He broke the kiss, but moved closer to her, under the covers, until he could roll himself on top of her.

She was surprised at his movements, her eyebrows rising to reveal this, but he disregarded them. "You have a double-wide shower in your master bath…"

She smiled in confusion, her eyebrows now coming together. "I had to pay extra for it… the layout of the building made it so there was extra space in the master bath in one apartment on each floor…"

Her brows began to relax as she saw a hint of mischief in his eyes and realized why he was on top of her again. A smile replaced the perplexed look on her face. "Gil Grissom, I had no idea you were so insatiable…" She teased him slyly, as they moved up out of the bed and into her master bathroom.

His hands found her waist again and pulled her body against his tightly, kissing her with a passion reminiscent of a few hours back, though Sara had thought it unmatchable. "I'm going to hell anyway… I might as well enjoy myself…" He said it teasingly, a smile in his voice. He did not expect her to pull from him, a slightly hurt but mostly serious look on her face. He immediately realized his mistake. "It's a figure of speech, Sara… going to hell. I just mean, I already broke my resolve… there will be repercussions now, whether we make love a hundred times or never touch each other again." He grinned. "I'd just rather be closer to the hundred than the never, when I have to face those repercussions…"

He captured her lips again, and she allowed it, getting quickly swept up in the intimacy with which he kissed her—even though they were both naked and he was clearly aroused, his hands gently held her face and ran through her hair, rather than roaming over her body. They stumbled their way to the shower, and Sara broke from him to turn it on, at which point he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck, softly, slowly, sensually, as if each contact of lips to skin was a deep and profound pleasure to him. Lips finding each other again, they maneuvered their way into the shower and the hot water, never breaking from each other. After several minutes of intense kissing, Grissom bent to grasp around her thighs, lifting her up and pinning her between himself and wall for the second time that night.

She gasped a little, as her back scraped against the rough wall behind her—her shower walls were stained cement rather than tile—she had thought it was pretty until this moment. Grissom stopped abruptly, understanding filling his eyes after only a moment. He moved to set her down, rethinking his shower idea, but her arms and legs, both wrapped around him, tightened in protest. "No… once you're inside me, I won't even notice…"

His eyebrows creased. "Are you sure? Sara, your back…"

She kissed him, not allowing his argument. "If I notice it, I promise I'll tell you and we'll finish in bed…" She pushed her hips up tighter against him and he groaned—she felt so good, and the hot water trailing over their bodies made everything slippery and even more sensual to the touch. He tried to argue again, but in this instance, he was no match for the persuasions of Sara Sidle.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI etc.

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The next time Sara woke in her bed, it was much lighter—she'd never closed the dark curtains she used when sleeping days. She knew without looking that she was alone this time, and listened instead for any telltale sound from the bathroom or the kitchen—there was none. She mentally prepared herself, before she moved an inch—it didn't make sense to get upset, she had made it clear, when they had fallen back into this bed, dripping and exhausted, that no strings were attached.

They had laid there panting, the white comforter fighting off the chill from the air, though Sara's shoulders still had goose bumps trailing across them. Grissom had seemed moments from sleep, but when she broke their silence with a tentative "Gil…?" his eyes had opened without difficulty, as piercingly blue as ever, and still intense, even in his afterglow. "I don't… want you to feel like… having sex with me… that you're going to hell…" He had opened his mouth to protest—hadn't they already resolved this? But she rushed on, preventing that; she didn't want reassurances he would feel obligated to provide because he was an honorable man. "I know what it means. All I'm saying is… this was a dream come true for me, and I don't want it to be anything less than that for you. So, I'm taking away the consequences. You're too…good to accept my offer of a "freebie," but I'm just letting you know that, as far as I'm concerned, you're off the hook. If you don't want to pursue it, then that's the end of it."

"How can that be a dream come true? Me backing out because I can't face the consequences of my actions..?"

She sighed in frustration, getting a little angry. "Either way, I got to be with you… something I would never have had if you hadn't broken your rules. So if you want them back, you can have them. I don't want to be pursued because you have self-righteous notions of 'facing your consequences' or whatever. You lost control, and I'm giving it back to you."

He opened his mouth again, to protest, but she shook her head.

"No." She said simply, and rolled over, facing her back to him. He sat there in shock, unable to figure out exactly how to argue when there was no argument made—just an absolute refusal.

"Sara—" He began, but he was cut off again, a little more sharply.

"No, Gil. Goodnight."

He sighed, feeling restless and uneasy, but she remained a brick wall, staring determinedly away from him, and eventually he drifted to sleep.

So having set him free, there was no reason to be upset that he had left when he woke. It was possible that he had somewhere to be or simply that he'd wanted to leave. That was fine.  
She took a deep breath, and repeated the phrase to herself. It's fine. She sat up, feeling even more stiff after the second bout of lovemaking, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand to her right, the closest one to her. It was ten to three in the afternoon—no wonder he'd left, she'd been sleeping the entire day. That seemed strange… unlike her… but she realized after a moment that she'd only slept a few hours and then gotten up and done it again. No wonder she was tired.

She quickly pulled herself out of bed, making the obligatory walk around her apartment, to make sure he wasn't still there, and then relocking the door—her proof that he had gone. They were unlocked. She then moved back through the bedroom and into her master bath—though she'd been in here only hours previously, she hadn't exactly had time to shampoo and condition, so she started the water up again, gauging the heat of it until it was warm but not hot, and then stepped inside.

She gasped out loud when the water made contact with her back, but she grit her teeth and endured it—the scratches probably needed cleaning anyway, and this was easier… it just hurt more. She relaxed after a moment, when the stinging died down, and quickly washed her hair and body, before stepping out of the shower, dripping wet. Once she had hurried through the shower, however, she regret it. She needed to keep occupied before work today, not sit and think… She moved back into her bedroom, never having been one to towel dry, planning to sit on her bed and find something interesting on television. This was when her eye caught something on the other nightstand, where his glasses had rested the night before.

She dried herself quickly, almost frantically, not wanting to get the small slip of paper wet, and then quickly went and sat on his side of the bed, picking it up.

"Sweet Dreams, Sweet Sara. I'll see you at work. –Gil"

She smiled softly, adoring the piece of paper with his beautiful scrawl. She reread it several times, and then folded it along the crease he had made and tucked it into her jewelry box, for safe keeping. She sighed, giving herself a moment to think. She knew Grissom very well—once he realized that he needed to make a decision based on what he wanted, rather than on what he thought he owed her, that decision would be a long time in coming. He liked to mull over things, debate them, agonize over details and what-ifs. He would not know, tonight at work, what he wanted. And at work, he would not indicate by word or gesture that there were anything to decide. So she could not go in, analyzing his every word and movement, and try to determine where he was, because it would only mislead her. He might not even have realized by tonight that he needed to make a decision.

She would give him time, not dissect his every action. She took several deep breaths, calming herself, and then smiled. Okay. She could do that.

Dry now, she moved into her bathroom to mousse her hair—it was the only way her stubborn natural curls didn't frizz up like crazy in the Vegas heat. Generally she straightened it, but that was more work than she had the patience for, even if her curls never looked like the perfect spirals that Catherine could do with a curling iron and twenty minutes. Once finished, she glanced at herself in the mirror and was surprised—she had bruises on her right forearm. Upon closer inspection, she realized they resembled a band of some kind… Grissom's belt. She looked to her other arm in alarm, seeing the same bruising along the underside. She knew she bruised easier than the average person, but never this easily—the belt hadn't hurt even a little bit. "Well, shit." She muttered aloud, applying deodorant and then stomping her way off to her closet in an attempt to find a long-sleeved shirt that was light weight enough for the Vegas heat. She didn't go in until much later, but the city took a while to cool down, especially in summer.

When she failed to find anything lightweight enough—the television reported that it was 105 degrees today—she sighed, throwing on a white, wide-strapped tank top with her usual dark wash jeans and snatched a brown jacket from the closet—the fabric was light and airy, hopefully she wouldn't feel the need to take it off today.

She left the jacket resting on the bar top in her kitchen and set about making food for herself—had she really not eaten since the night before?—and then made her way back to the bedroom while her soup heated on the stove. She eyed her sheets doubtfully—she liked that they still smelled like Grissom, but she was prone to evaluate everything in a 'what if I don't come home tonight' mind frame. If she were killed, they would search her apartment for clues, and discover Grissom. If he didn't want to be discovered, that was a problem. Sighing, she tore them from her bed, including all pillow cases, and threw them in the wash, her comforter folded beside the washer, ready to be the next load. Then she re-made the bed, white sheets with blue pin-stripes, and a brown comforter, to match the blue/brown/white color palette of her room. She returned to her kitchen and ate in a relatively comfortable silence, perusing a forensic journal while she ate.

The afternoon passed quickly and by the time she was collecting her things to leave for work, her sheets had been folded and put away, the comforter was spinning warmly in the dryer, all the counters had been wiped down and everything used put away. She had her kit in one hand, a purse slung over her shoulder, and her keys and a garbage bag in the other. She stepped out, dumped the garbage, locked the door, and proceeded to work feeling a little nervous, but sufficiently proud that she had managed not to allow herself to obsess too much over the previous night. She arrived early for the shift, as always, and made her way into the break room with a contented air about her.

She dumped out the last of the day-shift coffee, brewing a fresh pot, and sat at the table, pulling a newspaper towards herself. She was not seated more than ten minutes when her presence was noticed by Greg and he came in 'to get a cup of coffee.' "Hey Sara, what's up?"

Normally Sara found Greg to be endearing, his flirtations flattering and never discomforting. Today was no different—she laid the paper down on the table, grinning indulgently. "Not too much. How you been?"

"Good…good…" He paused only a moment, and grinned cockily. "So you gonna miss me?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. He tutted, a hand on his heart like he was deeply hurt. "I'm off all next week. I can't believe you didn't know!"

"…Well, did you tell me you'd be gone?"

"Sara, if I have to tell you… Aren't you supposed to be a CSI?"

She laughed, noticing that the easy smile had returned; he was teasing her. "I'm very sorry Greg. Why are you leaving me all alone next week?"

His eyes lit up, though it was clear she was only humoring him. "My Nana and Papa Olaf are coming to visit me. They've never been to Vegas before…"

She grinned. "That's great." She was interrupted as the rest of their team filed into the room, getting coffee and preparing for assignments to be distributed. She set a hand on his shoulder, to communicate she was sorry they'd been interrupted, and he smiled further. Grissom entered and all sounds of movement stopped. Sara took a deep breath before looking up to meet his eyes—they hit her harder than they ever had before and she had to remind herself to exhale the breath as he began distributing their cases. Somehow, seeing them in an everyday context after seeing them alight with arousal and drowsy with contentment made it all the harder to endure.

But Sara was never one to let her work fall by the wayside, so she pushed her thoughts away in time to hear that she and Nick were working an apparent burglary turned murder—her eyes flashed to Grissom and away, thinking of her explanation of her multiple locks. Either the reference didn't occur to him, or he was very good at hiding the recognition, because he didn't even glance in her direction. After another moment or so of explanation, she and Nick were off to their crime scene, without a moment of hesitation—Nick had just gotten back from a couple of days off and was excited to get back into the action. That was fine with Sara—the busier she was, the faster time sped by.

The initial processing of the scene took longer than normal—the place had been trashed. It looked like very little was missing—the victim, a young woman, had her purse beside her, though her wallet was missing. Neighbors had called to report a scream and a scuffle and the apartment manager identified her. It had been messy—the murder weapon apparently a lamp—the marble base was broken and bloody, and pieces of marble were visible in her head wound. By the time they'd returned to the lab, shift was more than half over. They dropped their evidence off in the respective labs and headed to meet with the coroner, not expecting to be surprised by the findings.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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If Sara had been paying more attention during their briefings, she might have realized why Grissom did not seem to notice the similarities between this crime and her lock-inducing fears. The case that he was taking with Warrick was another young woman, tied to her bed, raped, and smothered with her own pillow. When she hadn't come to work for a week, her office finally sent a co-worker to see if she was okay. She was apparently a bit of a shut in, without many friends. Grissom's eyes had betrayed him when he explained this one—they chanced a glance at her face—but she'd seemed unconcerned, distracted, even distant. She'd been restrained by a silk sash—the belt of her own dress—and Grissom had let Warrick process the bedroom in a rare moment of hesitation. He didn't want to confront the scene in the bedroom. He sighed to himself, moving through the other rooms—it was going to be a very long night.

Although emotionally difficult for Grissom, there was little to process on the scene and they'd made it back to the lab after only about an hour and a half. After they met with the Coroner, Grissom let Warrick run with the case—they had so little to go on thus far that it was really a one man job—and retreated to his office to get some paperwork done as down time was rare. Grissom sat heavily in his chair, and looked at the messy desk before him, a dozen things beckoning to be completed. Instead, he thought of Sara—he missed her hair curly. She had been straightening it for so long.

Was it some sort of omen that this was the case he should encounter tonight? He was aware that his…interest…in restraints in the bedroom was not a rare one by far, but he had always been wary of it, confiding it in none of his lovers before Sara. Hell, he hadn't really even confided in Sara—she had just known. He was wary because of the sheer number of women they found dead or dying, sexually assaulted or not, who had been bound. It felt like it was a trait he had in common with every one of those victim's assailants—because it made him feel powerful to have control over a woman. Disgusting. And he had actually… let Sara be powerless in their love making, an act in which both parties ought to always feel empowered. He felt sick to his stomach—it hadn't bothered him at first, having noted, most logically, to himself that she had clearly enjoyed herself, had tied herself up, and had not seemed to feel their balance of power was off.

He paused, reminded of an instance which, before now, he had forgotten about. When he had mentioned their power structure, and how it had been all off when they met, she had smiled her secret Sara smile and refused to explain herself. He would have to ask her about it… when? He suddenly realized that he'd assumed he'd be seeing her again, after work… he had even assumed that they would spend the night together again. How strange—it was unlike him to jump to conclusions, especially without being aware of the jumping. He… didn't know if he would spend the night with her again. Though she had been right that he was too… noble to accept a "freebie," she was also right that he should not pursue her simply because he felt he ought to. Truth be told, he had felt exposed all night, without his rules and control and careful walls between them… the idea of that feeling never going away was worrying, to say the least. The idea of going home alone at the end of shift, after the night they'd shared, however, felt almost painful. He needed coffee, he determined, thinking that something stronger might be necessary as soon as he was off the clock.

Sara watched Grissom hurry into the break room, and then turned around at the beeping which meant that the prints recovered from the lamp had gotten a hit—the girl's father, a convicted felon serving time for drug trafficking. Nick appeared behind her then. "I heard the beeping. What do we got?"

"Nothing—prints from the girl's father, he was imprisoned a week ago."

"Imprisoned? Let's see that… trafficking? Do you think her murder was related to her dad's…occupation?"

"Could be. My instinct says no, though. The crime scene was messy—electronics were missing, some even appearing to have been dropped while running away—a drug hit would be cleaner. I think she walked in, not knowing she was being robbed, and the guy panicked."

"Well, if he panicked, then he wasn't thinking clearly, and he had to have left us some clue. We just have to find it."

"Did you have any luck with the black hairs from her clothing?"

"I was just going to check on it now—did you wanna come?"

"Right behind you."

They made their way to DNA side by side, having to wait because Warrick had beat them there—the girl had a fiber in her throat. After a moment of reading over his sheet, he sighed in disappointment, moving to walk around Sara and Nick, whose backs were to the door, and then stopped. The hairs on the back of Sara's neck stood up as Grissom's voice reverberated in the small room.

"Warrick, what do we have?" She turned in time to realize she was hardly more than a foot from him. She looked decidedly at Warrick instead.

"Nothing. Hodges said the fiber is a match to her pillows, and the only DNA on it is her own. Dead end."

Sara suddenly realized that she didn't know what case they were on. How could she not have heard that? Once Grissom had left the room, she'd have to ask Nick about it.

Grissom nodded, in response to Warrick, but his eyes flickered to Sara repeatedly—more than he wanted them too—trying to gauge her reaction to their conversation. Had she realized the similarities? Did she see the fear in his eyes?

When Grissom only nodded, Warrick narrowed his eyes, confused, but continued on. "Well, until we get her toxicology screen back, we have nothing to go on. I'm gonna head back to her apartment—there has to be something we missed."

Grissom nodded again, but did have the sense to respond this time. "Great. Take a uniform. Let me know if you find anything."

"Sara, did you hear me?" Nick asked her, as Warrick swept from the room. She jumped as she realized he'd been talking to her.

"What? No, I'm sorry Nick, what did you say?"

"The hairs aren't human—they've been kicked over to Trace."

She sighed in disappointment. "Animal control removed a caged rabbit from her apartment. The hairs are probably from her pet…"

"Maybe. The hairs are black though—I was pretty sure it was a white and brown rabbit. I'm gonna go check with animal control, just to be sure."

He whisked from the room quickly, and Sara suddenly realized she had not heard Grissom leave—she turned once again—he stood still in the doorway, apparently at a loss for words.

"Sara, I…" He stopped again, and there was confusion in his eyes. She hedged him off, before he unintentionally gave them away.

"I'll uh… stop by your office, at the end of shift." He waited again, and then nodded curtly, and walked away, leaving her to fall victim to the day shift lab rat.

"What did you do? I've never seen him speechless before… Whatever you did to piss him off, I'm glad I'm not you right now."

She huffed and rolled her eyes before walking out of the lab.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know. :(

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Sara had her mind on meeting in Grissom's office at the end of the shift when she pulled out of her lab coat, reaching for the brown one, ready to be done for the night. The hook she placed it on was in the back left corner of the lab room they'd been in, and Nicky was beside her, removing his.

"Hey, what happened, you get dragged down a driveway or something?" His voice was teasing, but the question was serious—a finger touched one of the scrapes on her back and she winced.

"Fell in the shower… my back caught me." She frantically pulled the brown jacket over herself and rushed towards the door. Nick called after her.

"Sara… don't you need your purse and keys from your locker…?"

She cursed, under her breath, thoroughly flustered, and made her way back, past his smirk, and into the locker room. She pulled the purse roughly from the locker and slammed it, walking out past Warrick—which reminded her that she said she'd meet Grissom. She swore again, turning on her heel and marching down the hall. Greg had now joined Nick and they stood their laughing at her continual changes in direction, but with questions in their eyes. They weren't investigators for nothing.

She almost walked into Grissom's office without knocking, catching herself with her hand on the doorknob, and then pulling back and knocking. The door swung slightly open at her pressure. He looked up, surprised, but the smile that graced his lips was more than sincere. "Sara…" He said her name with a breathless quality that immediately got her heart racing, and she closed the door behind her after a moment of hesitation.

She sat down, and they looked at each other without speaking. Sara was waiting to hear what he hadn't said in the lab—Grissom was struggling for words. After at least a minute of silence, Grissom sighed. "Sara, I just… don't know what to do here. I'm so… so torn. And I know that… that it really isn't fair to you to tell you this and confide my indecision in you. I'm sorry. Maybe… I'll just…"

But Sara was leaning forward in her chair, drawn to the intensity of his gaze, and already looking for an excuse to bring him home with her today. She didn't need commitment—she just needed his quiet and simple affection. She needed the soft kisses and the caressing hands and the impish grin that hinted of good things to come… "Grissom… you don't have to make any decisions right now. You… figure out where you are. And, in the meantime, don't worry about the consequences." His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Sara…"

She laughed off-handedly, though it was insincere. "Grissom—You keep trying to deny my offers because they don't sit right with you… but they _do_ sit right with me, and we both know you're going to give in to me again eventually so… Why don't you come have breakfast at my place? Or…cheesecake and coffee maybe."

Sara was unlocking her multiple locks not twenty minutes later, Grissom beside her. They had driven separately, even leaving a few minutes shy of each other, but he was right on her heels as she entered the elevator. Once inside, she relocked the door and lined her shoes up like usual, Grissom following suit again. This made her smile. He wouldn't allow her to cook, instead making himself at home in her kitchen and fixing them each a small stack of pancakes—he would have loved bacon or sausage with them, but he knew better than to check for such things in Sara's home. They ate, discussing not their cases, but the day they'd spent apart, before work.

Grissom had said he didn't know how long she was going to sleep, and had wanted a fresh set of clothes. He slept some more, after a shower, and then made lunch and took Hank for a walk. Sarah just said that she ate and did some housework. Grissom smiled, knowingly, unaware that he did not truly know the extent of Sara's desire for order in her home. When they'd finished eating, Sara loaded the plates and frying pan into the dishwasher and, seeing that it was at least three quarters full, decided to start a load. Once finished, she wiped down all the surfaces in the kitchen again, and brought the washcloth directly to her washer. Smiling, she slowly took off the brown jacket and tossed it into the washer, to be quickly followed by her socks, tank top, and jeans.

Grissom had watched her in this pursuit—the laundry being behind two closet doors at the very front of her hallway—and now grinned and moved over to her. He had been right—at work her undergarments were more practical—the job always came first for her. This did not mean that they were not sexy, however. The bottoms were a form-fitting boy bottom cut, black and, upon further examination, silky to the touch. The bra was cream, with pink and red polka dots. His hands immediately found her waist, pulling her close. She caught his bottom lip in her mouth and pulled him closer, so she could kiss him without standing on her tippy toes, and then began to undress him as quickly as she had undressed herself.

Grissom, being the man he was, could not surrender without some protest. "Sara… are you sure about this? I mean, I don't want you to feel—"

"Good?" She interrupted. "'Cause that's the only thing you're preventing right now…"

And then his pants were about his ankles, his chest was bare, and he didn't even know how it had happened. He stepped out, removing his socks at the same time, and was surprised when Sara bent and picked the clothes up. "May I?" She asked, before tipping them into the washing machine and starting the load. His eyebrows mashed together his eyes were so narrowed, but she simply smiled, taking his hand and pulling him back into her bedroom. He was met with another surprise here. The bed was different.

She moved forward, pulling back the brown comforter and then seating herself in the space it left, leaning back on her elbows and watching him, waiting for his reaction. Although very much interested in devouring every inch of that newly exposed skin, he also felt…strange. Like he needed to know why the sheets had been changed. Like she hadn't wanted to sleep in the bed they'd made love in… She sat up, seeing his hesitation, and glanced behind her at the bed. She didn't want to explain to him why she'd changed the sheets…she didn't want him to know how she constantly wondered what things she left behind would be discovered if she died and her work family had to come sift through it.

She swallowed hard. "Griss…" she sighed. "You… you saw how I am with cleaning. The counters… the dishwasher wasn't full… a load of laundry for two shirts and two pairs of pants? It wasn't… I didn't…"

He watched her—she wasn't lying, but he felt like he wasn't getting the whole story either…like there were multiple reasons and she was telling him the mildest one. But she looked so sad… scared of his rejection. He moved forward, ducking his head down so he could capture her lips and reassure her, a hand resting on either side of her hips on the bed. She kissed him back desperately—her relief was so honest—so desperately thankful—that he found himself lifting her body to meet his and scooting her back on the bed only moments after their lips had connected. And suddenly, their mutual need was so all-encompassing that they could not stand to make each other wait. He entered her and pushed her as quickly toward her peak as he could, going over the edge the minute he felt her do the same. They lay panting in bed and, having worked all night beforehand, slipped quickly into a dreamless sleep.

This time, when she woke, he lay in bed holding her. She kept her eyes closed, afraid to break the spell of the moment, but she must have signaled her consciousness in some way, because she felt his lips on her forehead, his beard tickling her nose, and he murmured against her skin. "Good Morning."

She let her eyes flutter open and looked up at him—his eyes were bright and beautiful, and he looked happy to be in bed with her. She smiled and hugged herself closer to him. "…morning. What time is it?"

"A little after noon. You can go back to sleep, if you want, honey." His voice was tender and delicate, and she felt each lovingly-delivered word deep in her bones.

She shook her head. "No, I wanna be awake with you… unless, you need to go? You don't have to stay…"

He chuckled at the look on her face. "Relax, Sara. I want to stay."

She smiled and snuggled into his chest again, realizing with minor surprise that they were both still naked, and not having sex, but that it seemed comfortable and normal. That filled her up with hope, and she felt that if she could just feel this way forever, all her demons would dissipate. Who could be troubled when they were so thoroughly content? She stretched then with a groan.

"God, I'm _sore_. Are you this sore?"

He snickered softly. "Probably more than you… you have an old man in your bed."

Though he was teasing, she sensed that this was an insecurity—not that he had said it to hear her argue, he was not so needy—it was more like it had slipped out, because he'd been worrying. She stretched up to him, to plant a kiss firmly on his lips.

"No, I don't. I have an amazing lover in my bed."

He half-smiled, appreciating the thought, but not the pity he assumed was behind it. She glared at him. "Gil, really. I don't… I don't think of us as being fifteen years apart. When I think of you…" She blushed, and struggled to maintain eye contact, but she continued. "I think of a man who is my equal—he is not older, he is not more powerful, he is not more or less intelligent. I think of the man who I have desired since I met him—a man who showed me recently that I had not _really_ had an orgasm in my entire life …a man I respect, and care for, and admire for every part of who he is."

He was smiling, touched, and pulled her in close for another kiss on the lips. "Thank you, Sara."

She smiled. "I didn't say it to stroke your ego, I said it because it's true."

There was a moment where they just laid there, held close, but then he leaned his head back, to look at her face. "What do you mean, hadn't _really_ had an orgasm?"

She blushed and looked down. "Well, I mean… I had, but…" her eyes found his, and they were darker with the memory, her cheeks flushed. "…not like… _that_."

He lifted a hand to rest against the side of her head, his thumb stroking her hot cheeks. "Like…what? What did I do… differently?"

She smiled wryly, but leaned her face into his hand anyway. "You just… I dunno… everything about you, the way you touch me… is perfect. Maybe it's just that I'd wanted this for so long… or because I didn't feel like I had to worry what I wasn't hiding when I was lost in the moment… but… with everyone else I've been with… there are moments when it's okay… not horrible, but not necessarily good either… but eventually you get back into a rhythm and it starts to feel really good again. With you, there was never any lull… just a constant building and burning across my skin, from the moment you touched me…"

Her cheeks flamed again as she realized what she'd been saying—she'd been speaking without thinking, almost losing track of her place and time in her own train of thought…but now she was painfully aware, and turned her face from his, embarrassed. He still had his hand to her face, however, and turned it back to him.

"Don't be embarrassed, honey. It was that way for me too…"

She gave him the same smile he had given her a moment before—appreciating his words, but not believing them. He groaned and pulled her into another quick kiss.

"Sara, really… I'm not just… being nice, or whatever that face means you think I'm doing. No one has ever done the things to my body that you have… I understand what you meant, by not having _really_ had an orgasm. Of course I have but… compared to what you did to me, Sara Sidle, it feels like I hadn't."

She giggled softly, laying soft kisses against his chest. She looked up at him strangely, as if she wanted to speak, but then turned away, resting her head against him again. He chuckled. "You know you're not going to get away with that. What were you going to say?"

She shook her head, her cheeks flushing brightly. He nudged her. "I'm too embarrassed, Gil."

"…I promise that I'll tell you something too. An I-owe-you for if I ever try to hide something…"

She looked up at him, and then smiled softly. "Okay… I was… I was going to ask if the… orgasm thing… if that were true for Lady Heather too…"

His eyebrows narrowed. "How did you…?"

She shrugged awkwardly, tearing her eyes from his. "Gossip around the lab. I try to avoid it, most times, but… well, when it's you…"

He stretched and relaxed his jaw, and then closed his eyes at the inevitability. "Yes, it was more than what I've ever experienced, including my night with Heather."

Her eyes sought his, seeking out deception hidden there. "Are you sure? You don't have to say that…"

He shook his head. "I know. I'm not just saying it, Sara."

She smiled, then, curling her body up to his and yawning. She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but she was happy, in this moment, to let the topic die.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Sorry it's been so long to update, and that it's short. Hopefully the next one won't take so long...

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Chapter Nine:

The next night at the lab, Nick was strangely observant… as if he'd seen something in Sara's behavior that worried him. Perhaps this increased attention was the reason Sara was so jumpy—she dropped the coffee pot when Greg bounded into the break room, excited—almost skipping to tell Nick about his date the night before. Unluckily, it fell all across the khaki jacket she'd thrown over her shirt, but not on the shirt itself.

"Oh shit, now I have to go change… I don't think I have another spare shirt in my locker." In truth, she didn't know if she had a long-sleeved shirt. …Would she have enough time to stop at home before the beginning of shift?

Nick wrinkled his brow, moving over to her. "Sara, not a drop got on the shirt you're wearing under it… just take the jacket off."

But of course, that was the last thing she could do. She grumbled, trying to come up with an excuse, but Nick was already behind her, pulling it off her shoulders. "Don't be bashful Sara, it's not like we haven't seen you in tank tops in the locker room…" and when the jacket slid from her arms, he looked confused. "You're not even wearing a tank top… why didn't you want to—"

"Hey Sara," Greg cut in from the table, his mouth full of chips from the bag he'd opened, once realizing that no one was going to listen about his date at the moment. She looked at him in relief, waiting for him to change the subject, her arms crossing over her chest in an attempt to hide the bruising on her wrists… it was darker now than it had ever been, and several shades of purple.

"What's that on your wrists?" He asked it offhandedly—he had no idea what he was asking. Sara could literally have killed him… She closed her eyes, half in resignation and half in utter irritation. Could she not hide a damn thing in this lab? And Nick, as expected, jumped on Greg's words.

"Your wrists…?" though she tried to bury them further against her chest, he pulled them out decisively, and inspected the bruises with narrowed eyebrows. "Sara… who… who did this to you?"

She pulled them from his grasp defensively. "No one, Nick. It's nothing."

He caught them again and pulled her back to him. "It isn't nothing, Sara… haven't we seen enough battered women to know exactly how this is going to end?"

She glared at him—she knew better than he did how domestic abuse ended, and she hadn't needed the job or the victims to show her that. "Nick, I did it to myself, okay? …Drop it." And she pulled her hands from his large, calloused ones, as if to exemplify what dropping entailed. Those dark, Texas-sized eyebrows pulled together again.

"How did you cause bruises from your wrists being bound by yourself? I'm not stupid, Sara; I know what happened here."

"No, Nicky, you don't…" He argued again, but she didn't hear it—she was becoming more and more agitated at having this conversation in the lab—Grissom would be coming down with assignments soon, and the last thing she wanted him to hear was—

"What's going on here?" She closed her eyes again—resignation and disbelief. Of course Grissom was here now. During this. Of course.

And, of course, Nick spoke up, leaving her no room to defend herself—to explain how she had gotten into this position, with her hands attempting to bury themselves in her chest, and Nick hovering over her, lecturing her on her own self-worth.

"Sara's got bruises on her wrists… bad ones, Griss. And… I just remembered! She's got scratches on her back, like someone dragged her across concrete… She told me she'd just fallen in the shower but… but I think we all know you don't get marks like these from accidents or… or… just normal sex. Some asshole is hurting her, and she's defending him! …I just don't know why," he adds, turning back to me. "You're so much smarter… stronger than that, Sara. Why are you letting him do this to you?"

She blushed, and stuttered, and her eyes tried to both meet and avoid Grissom's at the same time, ending up focusing on one of the buttons on his shirt. She draws in a deep breath. "No one is hurting me, Nick. And if you don't stop talking about what is very clearly evidence of my love life, I'm going to file a sexual harassment charge. Okay?"

He looks taken aback… hurt, even. Sara feels guilty, but she can't back down—her relationship with Gil is fragile enough without any added stress—whether it be from Nick's accusations, or simply the fact that they were already close to being discovered, and their affair had hardly begun. …She certainly needed more time with him, uninterrupted and unchallenged, so he could make up his mind. If he made it up now, he would simply choose to end things… to keep living without her. She couldn't allow it.

"…Fine. …I guess I wasn't aware that abuse counted as 'evidence of your love life.'" He turns from her, his eyes dark—to hide the hurt, she imagined—and slumps into a chair.

She swallows hard, forcing herself to look up… to look at Grissom… but he doesn't meet her gaze. He turns to the room at large, which now includes Catherine and Warrick, though Sara didn't know when they'd come in… and begins to hand out assignments, as if nothing had happened.

It is with extreme effort that she blinks back her tears and takes the assignment slip he gives her—a 419 with Warrick—and leaves the break room and the awkward silence behind her.  
Warrick tried to talk to her, on the way back from the scene—She had taken perimeter, because she knew she was going to be distracted… She didn't want to be the lead on this one. And after hours of forcing herself not to think about what Grissom was doing or thinking, because she needed to focus, she really didn't want to hear his words, even if he wasn't being half as pushy as Nick had been.

"…He just cares about you, Sar'… We all do. He just doesn't know when to stop."

Sara nods. "I'm not mad at Nicky, I just… I needed him to stop. He didn't… need to say those things… in front of everyone."

He nods, and there are several minutes of silence before he tries to talk to her again.

"So… how did you get the bruises? I mean, if… if no one was hurting you…"

She closes my eyes in frustration. "It's not really anyone else's business how I got them…"

"Well… I worry about you too, Sara. Please just… promise me that, if it is anything like… like what Nick said… that you've either already ended it, or you're going to…"

They open once more, and she gives me a lack luster smile, and responds in her most patient voice, "I'll do you one better, War'… I promise that it isn't even close to what Nick was suggesting."

He gives her an appraising look. "Promise?"

She nods, glad to see that he believes her. "Cross my heart."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: So hopefully I have a little more drive to work on this story again. Reviews always help! Thanks and enjoy! (I really like this chapter...)

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When she returned to the lab, the only thing Sara wanted to do was find Grissom and explain—beg him not to overreact to all that had happened. The problem was that they had mountains of evidence to be checked in and delivered to respective labs to be processed. There was a good deal of processing to be done just by Warrick and herself… and so it was several hours before she found even a spare moment to think about stealing away and locating her lover.

Well, she hoped he was still her lover. It was very possible that Nick had put an end to all of that.

"God damn it," she muttered under her breath, pacing through the lab in agitation. He wasn't in his office, or in Catherine's… he hadn't been in DNA, or trace, or ballistics… he wasn't in the garage, or any of the layout rooms, or the morgue. She sighed in frustration, moving to the locker room to grab her 'just-in-case' pack of cigarettes and take a quick break, or else she'd have a freak out on someone else.

Greg was there, looking at his feet. Looking forlorn. Although Sara very much wanted to sweep by him without words, grab her cigarettes, and go… Greg had never let her down like that. He had always been there, if she needed him, and he deserved as much in return. Stifling another sigh, she moved in, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Greg?" He jumped at the contact, looking up at her in alarm. She almost smiled. "…Are you okay?"

He nodded, almost frantically. "Yeah, no, I'm… yeah, I'm fine."

She smirked at his discomfort, taking the seat next to him. She did not sit right up against him, just at their normal proximity, but he tensed and leaned just slightly away, as if she were sitting too close. She raised an eyebrow.

"…What's going on, Greg? You don't want me close to you?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's not… Sara, I.. I just… Nevermind."

She rolls her eyes. "We both know you're lying to me. Come on, walk outside with me, so I can take a smoke break, and we'll talk."

His forehead creased. "No, Sara… that's another thing—You're smoking again? You hadn't had a cigarette in months… You're not acting like yourself."

She looks down, a little shamefaced. "Well, I… technically haven't had one yet."

"…Why would you start again?"

"It feels good?" But he didn't seem to find this an acceptable answer—his face told her as much. She let the sigh she'd previously contained escape her. "Because I'm stressed as all hell over Nick's break room episode."

"_Why_, Sara? I mean… he's just… concerned about you. It's not like… any one of us… would judge you for it."

She looks away. She can't explain to Greg that it's more about the far-reaching consequences… the seeds of doubt planted in a mind already too eager to find an escape… rather than being judged. "It's just… it's not like he made it sound. And he wouldn't… drop it."

There's a long silence, which Greg breaks, his voice a little shaky, though he tries to hide it. His words aren't exactly what she expects, to say the least…

"Even if… even if it's just some kinky shit, or… whatever… even if you said it was okay… even if you _liked_ it… sex shouldn't hurt, Sara. You… you really can pick 'em, can't you? …How many times are you going to turn me away without thought for men who don't treat you the way you deserve to be treated…? How many times have you done it already?

"I could have told you from day one that Hank was the type of guy who'd want more than he had any right to… and the defensive, scared way you responded to Nick's heartfelt concern—seriously, the guy doesn't have a mean bone in his body—well, it tells me that this new guy isn't any better…."

She tries to interrupt, to explain—because she can explain it to Greg, as long as she keeps out the name… but he holds up his hand, desperate to get his words out while he can.

"It's just… like, okay, the bruises… if you _do_ do bondage in sex, you should… be tied up with something that would never leave a mark—satin or silk—while your body is ravished gently and slowly, so that by the time you're untied, you feel like you've seen the face of God…" And, unexpectedly, his hand rises to her cheek, the backs of his fingers running down it slowly.

"…Rough sex should be… rough in the approach, not in the results. …Throwing you down on the bed, tearing your panties off, love bites that never leave a mark… not rocking you against concrete because it's more important for him to get his rocks off than it is to preserve the beauty of your skin…"

Sara stared at him in awe, utterly speechless. Greg had flirted with her on numerous occasions, and asked her out more times than she could count… but she had never thought that her repeated rejections had hurt him, or that he could ever speak of her so… reverently.

She swallowed hard, trying to force herself to respond. Trying to make herself reassure him, explain, apologize for not realizing what should have been obvious before now… that his feelings were not, in actuality, idle and playful and only half-serious…

Instead, she sat there with her mouth slightly open, eyes wide and soft and unexpectedly brimming with tears for the man she cared for, so much, and yet could not help but hurt, over and over, because he wasn't _him._

Greg looked at her, with eyes deeper and less playful than usual, got a strange sort of half-smile from her shocked expression, and drew a shaky breath. "Sara, you should… you shouldn't be giving so much of yourself… to men who don't deserve you. …You should… _you should be with me_."

And before her face can transform into a mask of pity and pain and regret, before he has to view the rejection in her still-loving eyes, he leans forward and captures her lips—softly, sweetly, and quickly, so that by the time she's realized he's kissing her, he isn't anymore.

Greg swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze and after a moment of her silence, got up without a word and walked out of the locker room, returning to work. Sara sat in disbelief, the tears in her eyes falling softly now. Why now? …Why was everything falling apart, and every relationship she held dear suddenly in crisis?

Nick, big brother and sweet teddy bear of a man that he was, had been threatened with a sexual harassment suit if he expressed concern again.

Greg, funny and playful and truly the best friend she had ever had, was running away hurt and scared, tail between his legs, because she could not help but reject him.

Grissom, stoic and reserved and hesitant, yet finally loosening up… finally letting her in and might even be giving them a chance, was now… apparently avoiding her.

She grabbed the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her locker and stormed from the room, furiously swiping away tears. It was just _too much_. It just wasn't fair…

As the door swung closed, a slow sigh echoed in the locker room.

Gilbert Grissom huddled back behind a row of lockers because he _had_ been avoiding her, and could not handle the consequences of his lapse in judgment. It had been amazing to finally, finally make love to Sara, but Nick and Greg weren't wrong; how could he have been so… careless, so thoughtless, so all-consumed by his aching need for her that nothing else, apparently, registered?

…How could he have done that to her?


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.

A/N: Thanks for all the updates... this should make some people pretty happy... :) ...don't worry, I'll make you all sad again in another chapter or two. hehe! Please review!

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Chapter Eleven:

By the time Sara had finished her smoke break and moved back inside, she decided she'd just wait for the man in his office. He had to come get his briefcase at the end of the night. He couldn't avoid her forever.

But his office was already dark, the door locked. When she paused, looking at the room in confusion, a very pompous David Hodges moved up behind her, speaking all too knowingly next to her shoulder. "Left early… said he wasn't feeling too well. …Grissom never leaves early. Bet something's up… _You_ wouldn't have any idea what that would be, would you?"

"W-What..?"

He smirked. "Oh, nothing."

At first, Sara didn't know what to do with herself… the last hour and a half of shift was spent pretending to look through missing persons reports, though in truth she was determining what to do about Dr. Gilbert Grissom and his elusive ways.

When she finally clocked out, she realized that there was nothing to be done for it, she would have to go to his townhouse. …She hadn't been there yet, on a personal level—they'd always gone to her place. So it did feel almost like she wasn't allowed, but she couldn't just do nothing. She was quickly losing the man, and needed to make him see sense. She needed to talk him out of whatever it was he was thinking.

His car was parked outside when she pulled up, and she took a moment to breathe deeply before getting out of her car and walking—straight-backed—up to his door. She knocked, and the answer was quick. He did not look happy to see her there. "Sara…"

She made a face. "Can I come in?"

He looked reluctant, like he didn't want her to come in, but after a moment stepped back, pulling the door open to allow her to pass. She walked in, trying to remain confident—the man had proved seducible before this, she would just have to do it again. He stood in the entryway, watching her, having no intention of inviting her further into his home. She sighed.

"Look, what Nick said… it doesn't mean anything. You didn't hurt me."

He shakes his head. "Sara, it… I haven't been fair to you, these last few days… I haven't been fair to you these last few years, really. I know that you've wanted a relationship with me, and I seem to encourage that notion as often as I reject it, and I'm sorry about that. …I'm going to be very clear now, instead. We… we can't be together. The age difference—"

"Means nothing. I find you more attractive than any—"

"Maybe the age difference means something to me."

She stops then, taking in his words. Was he saying he wished she were older? …She hardly thought she was young enough for this to concern him, beyond his insecurities. …She joked with the guys, but she wasn't ever immature. Her forehead creased, and he took advantage of her uncertainty.

"And I'm your boss, Sara. It's… it isn't ethical. We just… we need to put a stop to this."

She shakes her head, opening her mouth to argue, when a knock comes at the door. They both freeze, aware of the precarious nature of their relationship and the shaky balance of secrecy that it depends on—even if it was over, they needed to hide what had happened between them.

Their eyes meet. "I'll, uh… go in the bedroom. If it's someone we know… if they know I'm here… I was using your bathroom."

He nods, and she hurries off, closing the door and listening intently with bated breath. …It turned out to be a girl scout, selling cookies very early. Grissom tried valiantly to turn her down nicely, but she was persistent. Sara grinned, looking around his bedroom and making a snap decision.

Grissom eventually agreed to buy a damned box of cookies, just to get the little girl to go away, and once she had left, happily skipping to her next victim, he turned to the bedroom door, calling out, "Sara, you can come out!"

He moved over to the couch, running calloused hands over his weary face—but Sara didn't come out. He tilted his head, and called her name again as he began walking to the door. No answer. He opened the door—his curtains had been drawn, and the room was dark. He could only make out the shape of a figure lying across his bed seductively—the light being enough to show off the lines of lacy undergarments.

He swallowed hard and gripped the door frame, to keep himself from moving immediately over her and making her his—proving to her how gently and lovingly he could take her… how reverently he could speak of her skin and her body and her mind and her worth… how sweet and seductive he could be. …How unlike Nick and Greg's accusations he could be.

"Sara… what are you doing?"

"Making a convincing argument… Is it working?"

He groaned out loud. "_No_, Sara, it isn't. Please put your clothes on."

She shakes her head, laughing lightly. "Nope. I'm sorry… I'm afraid I'm going to be here until you do something about it."

He shakes his head too, his mouth dry. "I'm not sleeping with you again, Sara."

She smiles. "You don't have to… but you do have to come give me a kiss. If, afterwards, you want me to leave, I will. I won't ever look back. But… maybe you'll want me to _stay_."

He rolls his eyes. "Stop playing games, Sara. I said no. You need to get dressed."

"Mmm… no. If you don't want to kiss me, I'll just stick around all day… but you'll have a tough time explaining to the team why I've missed work. …I suppose you could always call the police, but… then you'd have to explain why I'm naked in your bed, and that wouldn't make Ecklie too happy, I imagine…"

He huffs in frustration. "_Fine_, Sara. If I kiss you will you just get the hell out?"

"…Yes." Her smile is clear in her voice.

He moved grumpily over to her—but the way she was laying, he had to crawl up her body to reach her lips. Immediately her hands moved up to rub gently against him. He was already hard, despite his protests. He moaned, missing the feeling of her skin against his. Still, his voice comes out a warning.

"Sara…"

She giggles. "As soon as you kiss me, you can tell me to stop…"

He moved up further, bending to kiss her, when she scooted down, pressing herself against the leg perched between her thighs. Grinding herself again him, she let a soft moan escape her lips, and his hands dug into the comforter, trying to regain control, his breathing coming a little heavier.

She giggled again, but her voice wasn't playful—it was deep and dark and husky. "…Can you feel how wet I am, Gil? …Maybe not through your pants, but if you moved your hand…" She takes it, guiding it down her chest and stomach, and though he does not participate, he no longer fights it, letting her lead, his hand trembling. As soon as it brushes over the rough lace between her legs, pressed against his, and exceedingly wet, he's lost, his hips rocking forward and gripping hers insistently.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Sara reached down and quickly unbuckles and unbuttons and unzips, kicking his pants down his legs in one quick burst. He looks alarmed again, but she rocks her hips against him, reminding him exactly what he was getting in exchange for his tacit participation, and the worry in his eyes faded into a deep and consuming desire.

Kissing her hard, it takes only a moment for the remainder of her clothing to be removed while she's still struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Determining that three buttons is enough, she pulls it over his head instead, running her nails down his chest in appreciation of the completely masculine feel of him. She feels the goose bumps as they break out, and can feel the length of him pressing insistently against her, only his boxers between them.

Right now, that feels like an extreme barrier, and her hands struggle with them in frustration, needing to have him as close as possible after the day she's had… needing the reassurance of his hands on her body, his lips on her mouth, to have the most intimate part of him completely enveloped in her. Mercifully, he removed them, his breathing coming in short gasps now, hot and thick.

She wraps a hand around him, stroking slowly, but the anticipation is too great—there's no room for foreplay, and after a moment she lets her hands fall away, her legs sliding further open. He positions himself against her, slowly adding pressure until Sara was breathing like she'd run a marathon, moans and 'please's coming in between each breath, the wanting in her so real and all-consuming that she can't see straight or think straight, she just knows she needs far more than what he's giving her.

When her fingernails in his back become painful, he pushes into her quickly, slipping a hand between them and starting a steady rhythm immediately. Hardly a moment passes before her body begins to shudder and her nails dig deeper, a deep and guttural groan breaking from her lips followed by a stream of 'oh god', 'yes', and 'Gil', in no coherent order.

When her lips still and her body untenses, eyelids fluttering feebly in an attempt to regain control, he takes a slow, deep breath. That might have been the most erotic thing he's ever been witness to, but he can't think about it if he wants to last. …And he does. He wants to love her soft and slow, with a reverence that would put young Greg and his ideals about bedroom interactions to shame. He wants to replace the hurt of every mark left on her skin with absolute, undeniable pleasure, again and again…

At his slow pace, he worked her back up to a second, softer orgasm, which gripped her almost gently—her shaking body going and going, and never interrupting the rhythm of his movements, until she was begging him to stop for just a moment, so she could come down. The stimulation was making her breathless, and it was almost too much to endure… She had never imagined one could need a break from pleasure, yet Gil had taken her to that height.

And when she nodded that she was ready again and he began to move with increased speed and pressure, it hardly took seconds to build, and then she was begging he go with her… that she needed him to come with her. She needed it like her life depended on it. And, in some ways, it did.

As they went over in a delirious wave of absolute bliss, both had only cognition enough to think that this was the most perfect moment they had ever shared with another person. They were both heavy-lidded and nearly half-asleep as they came down, wrapped in each other, their afterglow slipping into contented dreams.

Sara Sidle was very convincing, when she wanted to be.


End file.
